


as long as i'm living (my baby you'll be)

by leopxld_fitz



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Episode: s05e11 Meet the Parents, Gen, Happy Ending Included, Missing Scene, just two parents who love their son a lot working through some big news, lots of parental guilt and parental affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:55:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27154828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leopxld_fitz/pseuds/leopxld_fitz
Summary: Clint and Marcy Brewer are good parents.Clint and Marcy Brewer have received some big news.Clint and Marcy Brewer have a lot to talk about.(missing scene from 5x11)
Relationships: Clint Brewer/Marcy Brewer, Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 23
Kudos: 249





	as long as i'm living (my baby you'll be)

She’s silent as they walk from the office back to their room, but so is he. But she’ll say something, she thinks. As soon as they get back to the room. She is going to say something. And she’s just sure that she’ll know what it is when they get there. 

But as Marcy Brewer gently eases the door to their room at the Rosebud Motel shut, she finds she still doesn’t have any words. 

She lingers for a second at the door, hand resting on the worn knob, taking in the white paint on the door, the sun-bleached vinyl curtain, the dark wood surrounding it all. It was just a run-down roadside motel, but she always thought there was a certain coziness to places like these. Something about being a boon for weary travelers for decades brought her comfort. Usually, at least. It wasn’t doing much at the moment. Instead it was just making her feel vaguely uncomfortable, like she was in someone else’s home when they weren’t there. 

Eventually, she gathers the strength to turn to her husband, who has placed their suitcases down by one side of the bed and is staring at them, fists rested on his hips, mouth in a deep frown. Clint’s never been exactly overly verbose, but she gets the feeling from his silence that maybe he doesn’t quite have the words yet, either. So she tries something else. 

“Awfully nice of them to save us a room,” she offers with a smile. 

“Huh?” Clint says at first, looking at her, appearing a bit like he’s been shaken out of something by her speaking. “Oh, yes,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Very nice of them,” he agrees, looking around the room like he’s just now registering it for the first time. 

That peters out, so Marcy tries again, this time a little closer to the subject that she knows they’re both trying to process. “And David’s dad. He seems…” she trails off. In truth, Johnny Rose himself hadn’t struck her any negative way at all. It was just his words that she was still having trouble processing. 

“Very polite,” Clint supplies with an outstretched palm. 

“Yes!” she agrees, nodding. Probably too enthusiastic, nodding too much. Trying for normal and failing. “Very polite, that’s exactly what I was going to say.” 

Another moment of silence passes between them, the pair of them looking awkward and uncertain, both looking around the hotel room, trying to find the words. That’s the thing about parenting, she supposes. Folks don’t really teach you how to talk about the hard stuff. Patrick being gay - or at least very likely in a relationship with a man - didn’t qualify as hard stuff inherently. It was just...the  _ how _ of it all. 

“Here,” she says eventually, walking over to her husband and holding out a placating hand, allowing it to rest on his upper arm for a moment. “Why don’t you sit down, dear, and rest your back. I’ll make you some tea.” 

“You don’t have to do that -” Clint starts to object, but it’s useless. He settles down on the bed with his back against the pillows at the look on his wife’s face. 

Marcy sets about filling up the provided tea kettle and plugs it in before setting about prepping a cup and tea bag from the coffee station just to the left of where Clint is resting. The work gives her a way to work through it. She’s a caretaker. She always has been. Which is why all this breaks her heart so much. The thought that she didn’t nurture her son enough, or didn’t make it clear enough that they would love and accept him in any form, or that she’d gotten too invested in her son’s previous relationships and now he couldn’t talk to her…

The thought that she was responsible for Patrick’s absence makes her heart twist in a way that makes it hard to speak. 

As if he can read her mind, Clint clears his throat. “Do you...do you think it’s true?” he asks, directing his question at the wall in front of him and then glancing at her after, steely eyebrows knit together, clear blue eyes occluded with questions. 

Marcy comes around to lean against the strange little half-wall by the bed, arms crossed. “I don’t know,” she says after a moment. “It...it certainly seems that way, doesn’t it? I don’t think David’s dad would have said that to us if...if at least he didn’t think that. Right?” 

“No,” Clint says with a tiny, nearly imperceptible shake of his head. “No, I don’t think he would have.” He sucks in a deep breath. “It does...explain some things, I suppose.” 

Marcy gives him a quizzical look, so he continues. 

“Oh, you know, him and...and Rachel,” he explains, gesturing vaguely once in front of him before letting his hands fall back to his lap. “How they could never seem to make it work. Even before…” 

He trails off but she knows what he means. Calling off the wedding. Packing everything up. Leaving town and becoming nearly unreachable. 

“And he and David do seem to spend a lot of time together,” she expands, looking in thought at the stitching on the...well she wasn’t sure what color to call it, but the bedspread. “He’s always talking about him. And the few times I’ve caught David on the phone...he’s mentioned dinner or a movie here or there. I just thought it was nice that Patrick had found such a good friend but I suppose those could have been...dates.” 

Clint nods slowly, processing. “He did stay here for Christmas,” he adds softly. “To be with David and his family, I’m sure.” 

Marcy’s digesting that one when the kettle begins to whistle, so she breaks away to go make Clint’s tea. She returns with a cup, putting a paper sleeve on it before handing it to her husband. His hands are too calloused to really register the heat, she knows. But she does it anyway. It makes her wonder about David. How he takes care of her son. She was able to share all the tricks to keeping Patrick happy with Rachel. They’d been so close. She hadn’t gotten that chance with David. 

She settles on the bed beside Clint’s knees, studying him. She realizes, suddenly, that she hasn’t...checked. To make sure that he’s  _ okay _ with Patrick’s relationship, that is. She knows his stance on things, and she knows they were both happy when gay marriage was legalized back in 2005. But it can be...shocking when it’s your own child, and she needs to be sure. She needs to be able to talk him through anything before they see Patrick, if need be. She loves her husband. And she knows, she  _ knows _ , he would come around. But she also feels a need to protect Patrick. 

“You’re okay with this, aren’t you?” she asks, eyeing him. 

Clint freezes with the cup pressed to his lips, giving her a strange look before taking a long sip. “I…” he shifts some on the bed, looking uncomfortable. It wouldn’t be the first time that someone had been uncomfortable on that bed, but this time it had little to do with the worn box springs. “No, of course not. Are you?” 

Marcy blanches at that. “Of course I am,” she says, speaking on reflex. “He’s our son. I love him no matter, no matter who he loves, and -”

Clint’s face in a matter of seconds has gone from uncomfortable to shocked. “Marcy -” he cuts in gently, holding up his hands, eyes wide. “I don’t...I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing here.” When Marcy has paused for a moment, he continues. “I - of course I’m alright with, with all of that. I don’t care if Patrick is gay. No, it’s all this...it’s how we found out. I guess I just feel like a...bad dad,” he admits with a sad little smile and a shrug. 

Marcy, for her part, feels an equal mix of relief that they’re on the same page regarding Patrick and shame at ever thinking that Clint would hesitate to accept their son as he is. “You’re not a bad dad,” she assures him, reaching out to take his hand, rubbing at his smooth wedding band with her thumb. “No more than I’m a bad mom.”

“He didn’t want to tell us,” Clint continues, and it’s clear to her that he’s feeling every bit of the hurt she’s feeling. “Or didn’t feel like he could. I don’t know which is worse.” He shakes his head some. “He was always so open with us. He told us everything. Even the things we didn’t need to know, like...like when he went on that float trip when he was eighteen and called you to confess that he’d had a beer.” 

Marcy smiles fondly at the memory. Patrick had been so upset. So afraid that they’d be disappointed. But he’d still told them. That was who he’d always been. So honest. “I remember.” Then, after a moment. “Well, it could be my fault,” she says quietly. “I’ve always gotten along so well with Rachel. I wonder if he thought I’d be so disappointed that they aren’t getting married that I wouldn’t accept any new partner. No matter who it was.” 

“I’m sure he doesn’t think that,” Clint says in that soothing way of his, so Marcy flashes him a small smile. “Some of it might just be...oh, you know. Young love,” he says with a shrug. “I remember when we first dated. I spent all my free time trying to keep my parents away from you. Didn’t want them interfering with anything or embarrassing me.” The warm smile is back on his face. “I don’t know. Maybe this is just Patrick making up for lost time.” 

Marcy likes that explanation better than anything they’ve come up with so far, so she says, “Maybe.” She thinks for a moment, and then quietly adds, “He seems happier, when he does call.” 

“He does,” Clint concedes. “And David seems like a great kid.” 

They’re not kids. They’re both over thirty, Marcy’s certain. But she doesn’t mention it. “He does,” she says, voice full of affection. They’ve both caught David on the phone a handful of times when calling the store. He’s never been anything but polite. He always sounded shocked when they asked questions about his day or how he was, which had a way of making Marcy’s heart ache just a bit. Well, she’d definitely be asking him more questions now. Trying to get to know him better. She wanted to meet him, to hug him, to get to know the man who captured her son’s heart. She wanted to be involved. 

She’s pulled out of her reverie by Clint asking, “What do we do?” He’s always had this way of looking at her like she’s got all the answers. She wishes it was true now more than ever. “Do we just...pretend like we don’t know? Do we ask him about it?” 

Marcy frowns. “I don’t know. I don’t want to intrude. If he wasn’t ready to tell us -” 

Her thoughts are cut off by a knock at the door, and both she and her husband stand. “Sit,” she orders, pointing back to the bed. “I can get the door.” 

Clint sits, but this time at the foot of the bed, eyeing the door warily. 

Marcy opens the door, and there’s a striking boy in all black telling her that he’s David Rose and handing her a gift. And that one conversation with David is all that she needs to feel better. Because Patrick has found this man, who apparently loves her son so much that he’d stride into an unknown situation just to make sure things were safe and okay for Patrick. And that’s all she needs to know to know that everything is going to work out alright. 

She carries that feeling with her, along with David’s new plan, into the evening, and supports her son as vehemently as she can. There’s a lot of lost time to make up for. On everyone’s part, she supposes. But she’s going to make sure that Patrick knows that he’s the most loved son on the face of the planet while they do so. 

**Author's Note:**

> i just found this (apparently fully-written) one-shot from july? the things we lose while in quarantine. anyway, thanks for reading! as always you can find me on tumblr @leopxld-fitz.


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